Deductive Reasoning
by The Pen Vs The Sword
Summary: To be a cop, you have to have a sharp eye and know how to read people. Nick/Judy. One-shot.
**A/N:** Hello everyone! Yes, we're back for another quick break with a short story we had in mind.

 **Pen:** Always the divided attention with you lot.

 **Sword:** I couldn't help it! I wanna write this one sooooo bad! And after we saw this totally, super-cute-awesome picture of it that we'll show you if you ask for it, we just _had_ to write this! Man, we gotta go see this movie ten more times before it leaves the theater!

Ahem, focus. So without further ado, Nick, Judy, and all related Zootopia material belongs to Disney. The story, Sword, and Pen belongs to me. Please do not use without permission. Thank you.

 **Sword:** C'mon, Pen! To the theater!

 **Deductive Reasoning**

Judy stirred her drink with her straw as Nick handed the waitress their menus. The diner near ZPD was especially crowded today and only got louder as a suited, middle-aged armadillo came in with two loud boys and a quieter one and sat next to their booth. One of the boys stood in his seat, sticking out his long tongue over Nick's head, a strand of drool dangling dangerously close to the fox. The father quickly jerked his son down and reprimanded him quietly, whapping him with a newspaper.

She sipped her drink. "So you're saying you saw the knife on the guy we dropped off just now?"

"Yes and no," he said. "I knew he had one on him."

"Former partner of yours?" she asked, teasing him.

He opened the end of his straw's wrapper and blew it in her face. "No, Carrots. The tattoo on his arm. Part of the Hillside Gang."

"That's still jumping to conclusions," she said. The front door jangled and a batch of runners marched in, sweat soaking their shorts and shirts from the midday heat. More people training for the upcoming marathon to join those already cooling off in the diner. Most had already filled up their sweatbands. One large buffalo collapsed on a barstool as dropped his sweatband on the bar with a _splut_ , much to a waitress's disgust.

"No, it's about deduction. Didn't they teach that in the academy?"

"Yes," she said. "But you have to have more to go on than a tattoo. Maybe you could've been wrong and he was a former gang member."

"Maybe," he said, folding his arms. "But the cut on his arm was recent, like it came from a knife. Not self-inflicted. Likely a fight he won."

"How would you know _that_?"

He tapped his bicep. "The Hillside Gang adds to their tattoos over time for every fight won by adding little orbs. The more orbs, the more deadly the person. And this guy had one that was fresh. Not only that, but he had at least a dozen. So he likely carried his knife on him a lot."

She finished her drink and the waitress was already on her with a refill. Judy thanked her. "And how did you know where it would be?"

"They carry their knives up their sleeve, their back pocket, or behind their neck in their shirt tags," he said. "When you had your back turned and were reading his rights, I saw his hands go up. And when he leaned forward to reach his neck, I saw the lump. Put two and two together."

She shivered, a little disturbed by the close call. It had taken both of them to bring the cheetah down, but they managed in the end. "Thanks," she said.

"Anytime," he said, reaching over and patting her arm. She smiled and squeezed his paw, rubbing his thumb with hers. "But you got to learn to see this stuff too."

"I do," she said.

"Not really," he said.

"You got lucky."

"No," he shook his head as their food arrived. "I pay attention to people. How else do you think I survived before this? You can't run a good business without noticing details."

She snorted on her food. "Business, right."

"Hey, don't knock good business sense." She raised a disbelieving eyebrow and chewed her carrots. "Okay, example. The booth behind me," he said, thumbing the armadillo and the kids. "The father's remarried, recently in fact."

"How on Earth do you know that?"

"Gold ring on his hand." Judy leaned in her seat, trying to examine the man without staring. "Only a few months old. Still has that new sparkle to it, even if he doesn't. First divorce, wife didn't want the two kids, so he kept them. Probably explains the extra wrinkles around his eyes."

"He has three kids," she said.

"The third one is his stepson," he said. "Bit paler in color from his brothers and doesn't look anything like the father. And he's sitting next to the dad. Probably trying to bond and get through the awkward phase of the remarriage. Also explains why the other two are so chatty with only each other. They're blood, he's not." He reached up, grabbing the tongue of the armadillo boy who hung over his head again. "Knock it off," Nick said, flashing his badge. "Or I'll handcuff your tongue to your feet." He released him and the boy tumbled back into his seat.

"That sounds like an abuse of power," Judy said, smirking. "What else can you tell me?"

"He's a stock broker," Nick said, glancing over his shoulder. "Probably reading today's numbers. Keeps checking his phone and texting someone. Maybe a client. Stuffy suit and tie and seems exhausted. I would be too if I had to track all those numbers day in, day out. Yeesh."

"That's all speculation," she said. "For all you know, he could be a stay-at-home dad who's watching his sister's kid."

"True, but reading people is about figuring out what's likely. Who they are, what they want, that kind of stuff. It's like an interrogation, except you already have all the answers. You just have to find them."

"Alright, dumb fox," she said. "Do another."

"Pick one."

She glanced around the diner and pointed to the buffalo. "Him."

"Young guy, early twenties. Still in college. Trying to get in shape and figured he would run the marathon. But he didn't expect it to be so hard hence the water." The buffalo was on his seventh glass of water and chugged it down. A waitress stood there, swapping one water pitcher for another and continued refilling his glass.

"How can you tell he's in college?"

"His shirt," Nick said. The buffalo's white shirt had a logo for Zootopia University on the right breast when he turned around and leaned against the bar, relaxing. "It's not faded, which means it's relatively new."

The buffalo grabbed another glass of water and doused his head and shirt, soaking himself and the floor. "Anything else?" Judy asked.

"Just that the cat near the window is really enjoying the show," he said. He jerked his head in the direction of two tabby cats, one talking animatedly to her friend. But the friend had her eyes on the buffalo, her eyes delighting as the water made his shirt cling to his chest and stomach. "Likely has a thing for athletes. Probably why she hasn't said much since the runners came in. May have known they would stop by and suggested coming here to her friend." He grinned and tossed a berry in the air, catching it in his mouth. "I'm telling you, Carrots. I have a gift for this. You should know. Read you pretty well when we met, didn't I?"

She pouted and drummed her fingers on the table. "Alright, alright," Judy said, finishing her food and pushing the plate away. She crossed her arms and stared him down. "What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Can you tell me anything about me?"

He tilted his head. "Didn't you hear? I already did."

"No, do something new. Read something different about me now."

He leaned in, looking her up and down and a smile curled up his face. "This is hard. But I do know one thing for certain."

"What's that?"

Now his lips wound up past his teeth. "That there is a cu—"

"Uh, Nick," she said, raising her hand. "You're not supposed to call me 'cute', remember?"

The smile didn't leave and he came closer until his nose touched hers. "Good. Because I was going to say 'That there is a cuddle in your future'. Maybe at my place?"

Heat rose to her face and she groaned, her heart beating a little faster. She stared down at her plate, folding her long ears over her cheeks and her fingers over her scalp, trying to act natural as the waitress returned. "You two need anything else?"

"I'm good. How about you?" Nick asked Judy.

"Fine," she mumbled. When the waitress left, she peeked at Nick. "What, are you a fortune teller now? Dumb fox."

He chuckled and took her hand, squeezing it. "Love you too, sly bunny. Or should I say 'cuddly bunny'?" She smacked his hand and arm and he laughed harder, shielding himself. "Okay, okay. Sly bunny."

 **A/N:** Hope you all enjoyed this. We did change the end a little from our original idea, but it's more or less the same. This kind of turned into another strabble than a longer story. Oh well.

 **Sword:** C'mon, Pen! Grab the popcorn! I got the soda!

 **Pen:** No. I refuse to partake in this!

 **Sword:** Do it or I'll cut ya!

 **Pen:** En garde then!

*sighs* Please let us know what you thought of the story. We really appreciate all of you reading it.


End file.
